


let me find you in the dark

by Livali



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Mind the Rating, Vague Fantasy Setting, a few characters appear every now and then, it's sad. it's angst. it's tension., will they be happy? i will not clarify
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livali/pseuds/Livali
Summary: She thinks of the time she imagined herself pointing at her chest, and she feels for the words so deeply she almost gasps—I know it, I swear, I swear that you were here. You belong here, no one else can.I swear, Kyoko would point at her heart, I swear you belonged here.or;Kyoko Kirigiri is a vampire hunter, and Celestia Ludenburg is her mortal enemy.
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Celestia Ludenberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 69





	let me find you in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> insp: starset – solstice

She must’ve felt this somewhere, sometime ago. This dread in her bones, the horror crawling along her nerves like centipedes.

_Again, again._

This memory was familiar.

The air was cold and light that evening. The twilight cool and she was so young, contemplating over simpler things like what beverages to drink for the hour, and her mother’s questionable choices in decorations for the yuletide, and the light specks of snow falling on Big Sis Yui’s face.

“Do you think father will come home this year?”

Her mother looked at her. Even as old as she was, she can tell the smile was strained, just enough to convince a thirteen year old, she was that age, but for someone like her it wasn’t enough.

She sees Yui wince in the corner of her eye.

“Perhaps so,” Mother swallows, “perhaps not.”

That’s the best answer she can get.

“Okay.”

Mother sighs. “Do you miss him?”

“No.”

She really doesn’t.

Yui looks away.

“I don’t even remember what he looks like.”

This was true, too.

It was quiet for a few moments.

“Well,” Yui sets a hand on her shoulder, her cheeks and her nose a pale pink from the cold, and there is a small upward curl to her lips, “you have us, don’t you?”

Yui might not be related to them in the slightest, but yes, she does. She counts.

She smiles at that.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t wistful. She places her hands on the ground and traces the random patterns of the wooden floorboards.

She watches as her fingers twitch, and the way her knuckles slowly turn more and more red.

“It’s a bit late now.”

Mother touches her arm, and then her jawline, and then her cheek.

She leans into it.

“It is, Kyoko.”

She doesn’t feel sleepy.

Yui sniffs at the air. “Do you guys smell that?”

Like something is burning.

“Uh-huh,” she says, “I also heard also some weird noises from the back.”

Mother pales.

Yui’s mouth thins into a narrow line.

“Vampires.”

They grab the shotgun and silver bullets on the table.

She holds the wooden stake close to her heart.

_Again, again._

(She heard the sounds, the rustling and the whispering of voices. The sound of gunshots in the dark, the bloodlust in the air and the screams that echo into the night.)

It hurts.

(Their bodies are ways away from her, the blood sucked dry and whatever remains clinging to their faces like parasites; eyes and teeth—their own—hollowed and sunken into their skin. And the fire eats at their bodies like hungry wolves to their prey.)

It hurts. It hurts.

(She tries not to cry, and stays still, the only sound in the burning room being the blaze and the tsk-tsk of the metronome. One vampire enters the room, blonde hair in twintails, tattered clothes, and her father’s silver necklace hanging around their neck.

The world holds its breath.

They leave.

And when she grabs desperately at her loved one’s remains, she bites down on her lip and traps the scream in her throat as her hands are lost to the flames.)

Kirigiri gasps out a breath.

She’s looking at the daybreak sky.

She wasn’t in a burning house.

It is morning.

And she wasn’t thirteen, she was twenty four.

The fire is dead, and she is breathing.

And she is alive.

She stares at her hands, paying no mind to the leather covering it, and she goes through each and every part. Index, middle, palm. And she’s memorized the patterns of the burns the same way she did with the house floorboards, so she doesn’t need to take her gloves off.

In fact, the leather doesn’t really hinder at anything, she can tell where the patterns end.

_Again, again._

She stands and prepares to leave.

She’s got the truth to find, after all.

* * *

Jabberwock.

A strange name.

That’s what it says on the wooden sign over the tavern doors, and she can tell the once bold colors have been lost to time long ago.

It is far into the night with the fire of the lanterns illuminating the empty boulevard, bending shadows on the cobblestone and the reflections of her boots on the puddles look just a bit more elaborate.

She tugs at the fraying ends of her hood and keeps her face down. Novoselic—the foreign word rolls on her practiced tongue easily—is supposedly peaceful, vampire-friendly even, being rather quiet up north.

The princess had told her it wasn’t quite true a few days ago.

She pushes, and the door opens quite loudly, the chips at the bottom scraping against the floorboards. While the bar was small enough to alert any customer of a new presence, the few people in it were too drunk and the bartender too apathetic to give a shit.

Good. Sometimes it was better not to look anyway.

She can brush aside the stares easily. She’s used to it—it comes with the job, all the meant-to-be curious glances that turn to frightened gawking, lips curling into scared sneers and nervous chewing at the insides of their cheeks—it is the most horrible of signs and the most dangerous of omens, if a vampire hunter was in the vicinity.

Kirigiri sighs, walking casually to the corner and pulling out a chair across the barkeeper—taking note of the brown hair and the one odd strand sticking out.

The stool squeaks quietly under her weight, and she pulls out two silver coins from her pocket, slides it to him, and waits.

He doesn’t even glance up to look at her.

“State,” he says distractedly, towel rubbing at the one spot in the glass that won’t come off easily, “your business.”

Mid-twenties, older than her, signs of stress, likely accumulated over time.

No fangs. Human.

“Sonia Nevermind,” she answers lowly, idly tapping at the wooden legs of the barstool, “Sonia Nevermind sent me here.”

He turns to her incredulously, unbelieving and eyebrows raised. “Who _are_ you?”

“K.K.”

Nothing else is said.

She sees the spark of recognition in his eyes before he buries it, and is grateful that she doesn’t have to explain herself and her credentials any further. He gulps almost audibly, uncomfortably, and nods to signal his approval.

“Were there any vampire sightings here?” He mutters to himself, head low, “weird.”

He then raises his head again.

“Hajime Hinata,” he says quietly and sets down the glass, her head dips imperceptibly to indicate that she is listening, “I watch this little town, like an informant of some sorts. What do you need?”

A week’s worth of sleep, and maybe food that didn’t taste like it came out of a rat’s ass, but she doesn’t say that out loud.

As much as she wants to, she really doesn’t.

“Someone,” she murmurs, hands tracing the cold metal of the guns hidden at her sides, and the rough texture of her palms cling irritatingly to the material, “I’m finding someone.”

He hums, one thumb digging into the planks of the counter.

“Do you have a name?”

She sets her lips to a narrow line.

“Celestia Ludenburg.”

His eyes widen.

He definitely doesn’t like what he’s hearing.

“Why her?” He asks warily, “I’m not belittling you, in fact, I’m even more surprised. Information on Ludenburg is scarce in general. Nevermind doesn’t even know who that is.”

He looks her in the eyes.

“Nevermind isn’t the reason you’re here, isn’t it?”

She just nods.

“I see.”

She has her ways.

Also, she’s been finding leads in between jobs and contracts for years, but that’s not something to tell strangers.

“She has something I want,” she says blankly, “but I don’t see any need to tell you what it is.”

He nods, too. He doesn’t say anything else.

Good. This one was smart.

She wasn’t much for conversation anyway.

Hinata appraises her, judging how much all of this should be worth. “Well,” he mumbles, face low, wetting his lips, “if you’re this far out, then she could only be at one place.”

* * *

Five vampires in three days.

This was a part of the woods where the specks of dust don’t hit the ground.

And the metal of her gun is warm from use and there is nothing between her and the enemy, his mouth covered with fistfuls of dust, of fire, the stake in her hand heavy as her heart.

It doesn’t weigh much at all.

“Please…”

She stares at his agony-contorted face, the air hot and the bullets searing his insides out, bones of his bones, skin taken away from the ribcage then set ablaze, and the taste of her own blood lingering on her teeth.

“Please,” he begs, drowning in his own fluids like a newborn, the sap leaking disgustingly through his skin like sieves, “I had to do it! I was going to starve!”

There was parts of this more raw than what it was, like they had a choice, but this one in particular had chosen to ask for mercy from something he didn’t regret. He was like any other contract—lying through their teeth when their crimes catch up to them. They’ll do it again. No differences to be made here.

It wasn’t enough.

I understand, she thinks, how it feels to be hungry for a need you cannot feed. You’ve just chosen the wrong way out.

“Stop squirming.”

It’s a great night, she thinks of saying. For you to stay still. Let me extinguish the lights, let’s go into the night.

Let me hide you from the world as you turn to ash.

Sixteen victims. Three were children.

This town she passed by is, so, so unfortunate. Desperation truly drove the gear of man.

Well actually, man and vampire made no difference to her, they had all come from the same womb.

Too bad not much thought likewise. Years and years of stigma had turned this conflict into something monstrous, the root of it all lost to time, and there is nothing left but hatred and paranoia fuelling both sides.

“No! I can give you anything you want! Please!” He lets out a stuttering breath, “please… just please spare my life.”

Pity, he doesn’t have anything he can give her.

(She doesn’t want to think about the fact that maybe before this man turned, he lived life as simple as it was, all the memories that were made, and the love was good. So good to him.)

“I can humor you then.”

No, no, not at all.

(Or maybe he talked to his loved ones on the hot summer days like everything was right in the world, where it wasn’t so lawless, and he curled into his family’s side like a missing piece of a puzzle.)

Or maybe, she just needed to stop being so damn contemplative on the job.

“Yes, of course!” He exclaims frantically as if what she said was true, “what do you need, huntress?”

The gun is loaded, and her hand is at the trigger.

(How annoying, for this world to be so unkind.)

“Ludenburg Manor,” she says, “I need accurate directions.”

He stills.

Oh. After the last few vampires that attempted to suck off of her for the last few days with no idea where or _what_ the manor even was, this was a nice change of pace.

“Keep going north,” he says, and she knows he’s saying the truth, “You’ll know it when you see it.”

And a gunshot was the only sound for the next few miles.

He laid limp then; skin aflame with the sunrise, fangs glittering in the light and a stake to the heart. No different than any other bundle of bones buried deep within this planet.

The smell of death invades her nostrils.

She looked away as the body burned.

* * *

She steps into dense fog, air cold and lifeless; she immediately knows this place is dangerous—a storm is in the works, the clouds were darker than they were hours ago, the thunder is loud and it rings by the shell of her ears.

The only eyes on her form were that of dead trees scattered across the meadows, and she reckons there is much work to be done for it to stay that way.

(At least, she can attribute it to her training and years of experience, she would know if she was being watched or followed.)

See, the thing about major vampire territories, she observes, is that you can practically tell where the boundaries for humans end and where the vampires starts. To the trained eye, it’s easy to tell where the terrain starts to twist and the atmosphere changes to something like a warning.

It’s become normal to her in a way, so she can admire the somewhat organized chaos of it all.

From the distinct markings on the trees, to the old and aging signs by the side of the roads.

There was also the symbols and the flags. Or the formation of torches at the shoulders of the pathways.

Each and every coven she had come across had their own sets of rules and practices; it wasn’t necessarily to separate themselves from the humanity they have left, but to feel it and to grasp onto it.

All this, to them, is their way of being alive.

A home that lives and breathes, she muses, it’s astonishing.

(These were the kinds she’d feel some semblance of emotion for. For people who had no choice, who the world had forsaken more than once, treated so wrongly they just melt and merge into the soil and be made into seeds for the greater things. It’s sad. It’s sick.)

Too bad there were a few who were the exact opposite.

And her loathing wasn’t exactly exclusive to vampires, those actions can be committed by anyone on this earth. Humanity was never immune to folly.

(Those were the kind she’d want to tear apart, quietly shooting into their flesh to reveal yellowing bones beneath the skin, to see the terror and the shaking of their joints as they click together. And the fire burns them to nothingness, opening their being and exposed to the light.)

The calm before the storm gives way to a more occupied, used pathway. It is lit—there is a mansion in the distance, which she knows exactly what it is, but the stained glass windows being so clean, so vivid and not covered in a single trace of dirt and soot and whatever grain nature can offer throws her off-course for a moment.

It’s dark, it’s pristine, it’s well taken care of even, and in an odd twist of fate it looks more and more like a church the more distance she covers, and she wonders if it was constructed intentionally for the purpose of mockery.

She treads very carefully. Vampire senses are never to be challenged lightly.

One. Two.

They’re not hostile.

“You’re really far out.”

One talking in front of her. Lanky, green hair, dark blue tunic. The sword looks too heavy for him.

One somewhere behind her, beyond the dead trees and within the safety of the fog. No profile for her to take note of yet.

“Yes,” she says blankly, “I’m looking to speak with Celestia Ludenburg.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really now?”

She nods.

He seems oddly uncoordinated—freshly-turned possibly—lacking the unearthly beauty and grace a vampire would normally possess, and while as a human he would’ve looked charming regardless, instead he just comes off as unnerved and uncertain.

He wasn’t looking for a fight as much as she was.

“Um—well, I don’t really know why you want to speak with her,” he says, “which is weird because most people who come here are looking for a kill.”

“Well, I’m not.”

He blinks.

“Why would I believe that? I need proof.”

She sighs.

“I’m in vampire territory. Alone and outnumbered. No one is stupid enough to do that unless their intentions were diplomatic.”

Short, concise, straightforward.

He blinks again.

“She’s right.”

A new voice says, feminine this time, this was the one behind the fog, and while the weapons on Kirigiri’s form call to her and bites at her hands as if begging to be used, she doesn’t answer back.

“Please, do not fret. We appreciate diplomacy as much as you do.”

Observant.

Light green hair. Taller than her even with the combat boots, which is rare than it already is, and this one, unlike the first, had the elegance and eerie allure a vampire would typically have.

And judging by the way she held herself, she also knew how to fight.

Kirigiri stays quiet.

“Your name?” The new one asks. “We need to know your name.”

An exchange of information. To gain the upper hand. They are at each other’s mercy either way.

“Kyoko Kirigiri.”

The stranger smiles.

“Excellent,” she clasps her hands together, and the other vampire walks next to her, “I am Kirumi Tojo. This is Rantaro Amami.”

“Nice to meet you.” Amami says, much more relaxed this time, probably because his senior determined her to not be a threat anymore.

She dips her head. “Likewise.”

Yeah, well, not really. She likes the parts she’s seen, but there are too many unknowns so she doesn’t know what to make of them yet. At the very least though, they are civil.

“Both of us are subjects to the head of the house, there are a few of us here,” Tojo says. “Welcome to the Ludenburg Manor, Miss Kirigiri.”

Kirigiri almost snorts at the added honorific.

Tojo walks forward and urges her to follow.

“Come now,” she says politely, “you will be able to speak to her soon. But I must ask, why do you need to speak with the mistress?”

They had many enemies. That, she can tell.

“She knows something and I need the information,” Kirigiri says, “that is all I can say.”

Amami laughs.

“Yeesh, I can see you’re not much for talking,” he remarks offhandedly, “you’re almost as cryptic as she is. She’ll probably like you or hate you and no in between, that much I can say.”

Tojo chuckles.

“Indeed, the mistress is quite the character,” the woman says in response, and shoots her a measured look, “although I’d tread carefully if I were you.”

Fascinating.

She can’t wait to meet this Ludenburg, then.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Tojo and Amami leave her in the lobby, so Kirigiri takes the opportunity to walk around to examine each and every detail of her surroundings; it’s gaudy, filled with so much decoration—the chandelier really isn’t helping at all—but what Kirigiri finds surprising is that there’s not much knowledge to be gathered from it.

It says many things about their wealth, the power this faction likely has, for so much of these riches to be flaunted so freely, but not a single speck of personal information was tucked into these.

No tells, no signs of use, no sort of sentimentality. This is what they all are, merely decoration. Fake. A front. A façade.

This entrance was furbished with the intent to intimidate and deceive.

If she was anyone else, she likely wouldn’t have seen it at all.

Clever.

Does this say anything about the person who owns them? Nothing, at least, not yet. She does not assume. But does this say anything about their intellect? Yes, absolutely. She was dealing with someone who knew which and what cards to play.

These vampires were smarter than they let on. 

“Kyoko Kirigiri,” a voice from behind her says, and she turns around so casually as if she wasn’t startled by it in the slightest, “that is correct is it? Do inform me if they’ve heard it wrong.”

The voice belonged to a black-haired woman, dressed in a fancy dark Victorian dress, looking at her as if she was every other object in the room.

(Earrings. Claw ring. Jewelry. Young-looking. Probably turned around her age. Gives the illusion of presence. She takes note.)

The stranger stands firmly on her high heels, arms and legs crossed languidly and she’s pretty, _beautiful_ even, like vampires usually are—but well, see, her stare trails up from the legs to the chest and to the neck and then all the way to her red eyes and her face and it _stays_ there.

She feels like the both of them are holding each other’s gazes too much for it to be considered friendly.

The woman’s lips quirk slightly.

Kirigiri reckons she’s probably as stunned as she was; sincerely, she knows for a fact that vampires held this sort of forbidding beauty, knows they should be seductive and striking, but she’s never felt like this before.

If anything, anyone this lovely was essentially a walking _hazard_.

There was a difference between pretty, she thinks coolly, and well, _hot_.

And the latter, she decides, was infinitely more dangerous.

The heels muddy the image at least, somewhat. Her combat boots might have platforms, but the woman’s heels give the idea that she was shorter than Kirigiri was.

She almost, _almost_ , laughs.

“No, you’ve heard right. That is my name.” Kirigiri coughs awkwardly. “And you?”

The woman giggles, and the sound is enchanting but she pushes that thought to the back of her mind, “Celestia,” she says—she has an accent, fake or not is left to be unseen _—_ clasping her hands together under her chin, and Kirigiri has this strange urge to touch her face, “Celestia Ludenburg, dear. You wanted to speak to me.”

Kirigiri answers before the bizarre tension from earlier has a chance to form again. Whatever _that_ was, she did not need it distracting her. “Right. I need information.”

“Oh?” Ludenburg’s lips curl upward in polite incredulity, probably amused. “Do elaborate.”

“I’m looking for someone,” she says vaguely, “history of mass murder. Blonde hair in twintails. Silver pendant. Much of my findings point to you knowing something about them.”

“Really now?” She walks towards her, and the woman’s hand inches to the sleeves at her arms, tracing the stitched lines that lie there, “and where did you hear this from? Are they credible? Reliable?”

She walks around her in a slow circle.

“See, vampire hunters aren’t rare, but most of them, are unbearably, unbelievably foolish.” She says, arms crossed, lips peeling into a dangerous, _dangerous_ , smile. “Being here is evidence that you are cunning in a way, but that does not set you apart.”

A challenge.

She stops right in front of her.

“Tell me. How are you any different?”

“Mhm,” Kirigiri hums lowly, ignoring the touches, and the lack of any inflection in her voice makes Ludenburg’s eyebrows rise delicately, “I just do this for a living. I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t explain herself.

Ludenburg tilts her head.

“How can you prove that to me?”

Her lips twitch. “I wouldn’t be alive talking to you otherwise.”

Ludenburg’s lips tilt into a smile—a genuine one, not out of politeness—and her red eyes seem to just glow a bit more under the chandelier’s candlelights.

Were they speaking on the same wavelength?

Interesting.

“Confident and straight to the point,” she says, studying Kirigiri closely, “I like that. You’re a rare one, Kirigiri, most would’ve given up talking to me as I tend to drag them on circles all the time.”

Kirigiri lifts an eyebrow mildly. She can see that.

“How so?” She asks good-naturedly.

Ludenburg clicks her tongue.

“Unlike you, they don’t know what to say,” she says boredly, twirling strands of her hair on her finger, “too intimidated, too dumb or too impatient, I suppose.”

“I’m a first?” Kirigiri responds, entertained, “how novel.”

Who said she wasn’t much for conversation?

“Why yes, you are,” Ludenburg’s smirk stretches a bit wider, and the torches by the walls flicker for a few seconds, “how does that make you feel then, Miss Kirigiri?”

Ah.

She’s flirting with a vampire.

“Nothing.”

Yes. She’s flirting with a vampire.

“Oh, so you don’t feel like falling to my whims yet,” she says, in faux-disappointment, perhaps delighted by whatever this conversation is, “I will ensure the opposite happens by the time we are well-acquainted, Kirigiri.”

This is one of the stupidest things she’s ever done.

(But no, no, she’s not regretting this.)

“I’m looking forward to that, Miss Ludenburg.”

Her face scrunches a little at the remark. That was probably meant to be unseen, but whatever’s going on between them was making them drop their walls in a way, “ah, take out the ‘miss’, would you? It doesn’t really sound pleasant to the ears. And you can call me Celes in that stead.”

“Okay, Miss Ludenburg.”

She clicks her tongue again.

“Being coy with me?” Ludenburg says, the remark doesn’t bite, just a bit misbelieving (perhaps no one has talked back to her before), but the smile on her face doesn’t leave. “You become more intriguing the more I talk to you, Kirigiri.”

Kirigiri grins.

Ludenburg looks at her thoughtfully. “Well, enough of that anyways. I will be blunt for once, but I do not give away information, and of this scale even more so, not effortlessly and without a price.”

Of course. Of course. Information was so important in this time and age. She’s had deals before. This was no different.

She’s having fun, at least.

“Then what do you propose we do?”

Ludenburg smiles knowingly.

“I need to see if you’re able to withstand charming first, my dear. Then I will discuss our circumstances.”

There was no reason for her to do that, they were just making more excuses to talk to each other at this point, but Kirigiri finds herself agreeing to it anyway.

“Are you one of them, Kirigiri? Do you have the power of will? Do you believe in yourself so much that you are willing to test yourself against me?”

She’s expecting her to do so. No one’s placed that much confidence in her for the first time before—even less so when on the first meeting.

How beguiling.

She doesn’t need to say that she’s already charmed even without the magic, it would be admitting defeat in a way. They were both playing games, the pawns to each other’s boards.

“Well?”

And so it begins, she muses.

“Yes.” She finds herself saying, unreasonably cocky, and she meets the woman’s crimson eyes with no hesitation.

“Interesting,” Ludenburg says, fangs out, the points glinting dangerously under the torchlights, and maybe if she was crazy enough she would’ve found the threat incredibly attractive, “but I will still be the judge of that.”

With no warning, the woman steps forward, and she is levelled with a _stare_. Her pupils contract and dilate, red eyes glowing menacingly, and Kirigiri can imagine the same motions happening on her own.

And truth to be told, she doesn’t want to give up the act just yet, this odd, unexplainable magic has been used on her so many times that the effect is lost forever, but the same power, on Ludenburg, she doesn’t understand how but she feels so, so achingly loved. So, so painfully wanted.

It feels like a memory.

(Like their names are so ancient and yet so familiar on each other’s lips, and she’s being told of a story of the rivers running beneath the earth, the divide between sky and land, finding a strange sort of comfort in the way she runs her mouth and rambles, and then, and then, and then—)

She blinks, and the intensity in her own eyes must’ve caught Ludenburg off-guard, because she’s being stared at like she’s the first source of water in the miles stretch of sand, and none of them even think of speaking, of talking, or pretending to know how to breathe. They are just standing across each other, and the room dissolves to dust.

She doesn’t know how to explain it just yet, but in this moment when the manor disappears like paper to fire and ink to feather, Celestia Ludenburg doesn’t seem like a threat, like her natural enemy—and there is no risk and no games and no bitterness.

And maybe just two women.

(She doesn’t want to admit how easily Ludenburg gets underneath her skin, wanting to be so consumed by whatever feeling this is, needing the sensations inked and novelized into the parchment across every dotted margin of every existing page. God, _god_ , someone get her before she drowns in the feel of it all.)

And when Kirigiri tilts her head down she finds her hand over Ludenburg’s chest, and her fingers being held by one of hers, the claw ring shining tantalizingly against the black leather, so tender and so raw, she wonders if she’s hallucinating.

(She has the urge to take her gloves off. She doesn’t follow it.)

“It doesn’t work,” she mumbles, letting it hang in the air and waiting for it to sink in, “charming doesn’t work on me because it’s been used so much.”

They don’t move.

“I knew already,” Ludenburg whispers carefully, “I know what lying looks like, huntress. It isn’t quite a good look on you.”

She doesn’t bother coming up with an excuse.

“I see.”

“You make a good liar,” Ludenburg says with a smile, a real one, “it’s just unfortunate that you had to lie to the one who knows it for what it is.”

She’s never met someone so interesting before.

“You as well,” Kirigiri comments quietly, “I just happen to know what the truth should look like.”

She almost forgets she has a mission to do.

Ludenburg’s smirk grows wider even more.

Kirigiri had thought she was stunning before, but in this moment Celestia Ludenburg was nothing short of irresistible.

(Like, like, like—it was written in her blood that she was _gorgeous_ , innately designed by the world to be too ravishing to resist, and the pure curiosity devours her whole, Ludenburg taking so much space in her brain in just one instant.)

It was so _unfair_.

Somebody clears their throat, and Tojo is standing on the end of the large stairway, by then do they realize they’ve been staring desperately at each other for way, _way_ too long, not speaking and unmoving.

Ludenburg breaks away first.

“Kirumi will take you to your room for tonight,” she says distantly, “do not worry. I imagine that your accommodations will be more desirable than the last few weeks you’ve been travelling.”

It takes a minute for her to move, finding it hard to take even one step forward, and she gulps awkwardly as she does.

She can tell from their actions tonight that at least, there won’t be any chances she’ll be killed in her sleep.

She attempts a smile, but she finds herself grimacing instead. “Yeah. Okay.”

Tojo starts leading her, but Ludenburg grabs at her wrist and there is a small, but genial tilt to her lips.

“We will discuss your conditions tomorrow.”

Kirigiri nods, and the grimace turns into a real smile.

“Sleep well, Kirigiri.”

“You too,” she realizes the mistake the moment the words leave her mouth. She must sound so silly, it’s embarrassing, “oh wait. Vampires don’t sleep, sorry.”

Ludenburg chuckles.

“It’s appreciated, nonetheless.”

Under the firelights, her eyes glow a hungry, smoldering red.

* * *

Standing in Ludenburg’s room feels more different than it was last night at the lobby.

The closeness of it all is more intimate, _dangerous_ , and it’s not because this space is not the ideal place to fight in case she turns against her, but because it is the same closeness that dulls her senses to the one, single, most important thing in the room; only Celestia Ludenburg, and this is a testament inherently to how quickly their eyes find each other the moment Kirigiri steps foot into the room.

This lack of background noise is unnerving in a way—she’s never had this before, never felt like wanting to do everything with and to a stranger before. But having the hodgepodge of her own thoughts drift to oblivion, even for just a little while, was a comfort in of itself.

“Good afternoon,” Ludenburg greets amicably, and Kirigiri’s gaze drifts down to the table; two teacups, a teapot, little plates for sugar, for honey, she must enjoy these a lot, “glad to see you’re doing well, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she says aloofly, but she’s feeling more honest today, and she tries not to dwell on the reasons why so, “I haven’t slept that well in a while.”

“That’s good to know,” Ludenburg says, clearly the thought of Kirigiri sleeping unsoundly never crossed her mind. How cute, being so confident in her ability to observe and please, “have you any guesses to what I have to propose for you?”

“Security detail, assassination, patrolling,” she drones, “information gathering, spying, maybe tailing some high profile regent. I’ve gotten many contracts over the years, as I’ve told you before, I know what I’m doing.”

Ludenburg giggles, examining her with blatant curiosity, and if she didn’t know better she might’ve mistook it for unbridled awe, but she’s well-versed in observation to know the difference. “I never thought otherwise.”

“So, which one is it?”

Ludenburg grins. She finds it beautiful. “It’s not actually any of those.”

Kirigiri raises her eyebrows high, but immediately subdues the reaction with a smirk of her own. She starts mulling other possibilities in her head.

Well, color her surprised, at least.

“What is it, then?”

“Assist us.” Assist _me_ , she infers, but it is left unspoken.

Oh. _Now_ she knows where this is going.

Kirigiri sits down and starts pouring a cup of tea for herself, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly in interest. “Explain.”

“I suspect an attack from another coven is imminent,” Ludenburg says, more solemnly, “they’ve been trespassing into my territory for a while now.”

The vampire clicks her tongue in distaste.

“Their crimes against me include stealing and killing livestock and poultry. There’s been a few minor skirmishes with my members and theirs as well. However, last week, they’ve crossed the line and burned down one of our farms.”

She nods for her to continue. 

“It’s most likely to catch our attention. It’s a warning. The current information I have at hand tells me the most likely they’ll attack will be in a few weeks. A month at most. I believe fending them off will be easier for my coven with you around.”

“I see.” It’s a particularly easy job, but she pretends to think it over, not wanting to give the other the satisfaction of winning in this little exchange so easily.

She knows Ludenburg sees through it right away.

And Kirigiri finds the sheer unflappable belief the woman has in her decision being nothing else, utterly, entirely exquisite and _gorgeous_ , so, so _gorgeous_ , and she wonders if the feeling is mutual.

“I accept.”

Ludenburg smirks carelessly, dangerously, and they stare at each other and watch as the playfulness turns into a haze, she doesn’t know whose breath catches and hitches first, but not knowing is mostly a grace; these emotions were strong, tyrannical, and the stares turn into an awed sort of gawking.

Like a bunch of old friends who haven’t seen each other in years.

And it’s like it is love that roots her to the seat, and not any other emotion.

(But she knows better.)

“I never expected for you to say anything else,” Ludenburg says, face unguarded and in the telltale signs of a daze, “if it’s you, Kirigiri. Your aid will be treasured.”

She knows she’s mirroring the look.

And she knows they aren’t also talking about their little deal anymore.

(She doesn’t care.)

“You’re welcome, then,” she says, then adds in as if to save face, “what sort of information will I get anyway?”

The curl to Ludenburg’s lips flicker in the sunlight.

“A name,” she murmurs, “what you will get is a name.”

It is more than enough.

* * *

She dreams of the burning house.

_Again, again._

She’s lost count of the times she’s seen this.

Kirigiri is no genius, people might call her that even if she believes differently, but she knows this is another dream.

She is thirteen again. But her mind this time, it is twenty four.

She is more of herself in this one, the light of the moon is dimming, and there’s no witness to the fires other than herself.

Nobody’s listening anyway.

Although, even if the belief is eleven years old, she likes to think that there’s still someone out there. She would like that.

You know, pretending that someone is still there for her.

Those that aren’t burnt and rotting corpses.

(She remembers how it went down vividly, actually, she saw them and their blood soaking the floorboards, and they weren’t shaking from the adrenaline, or from the panic.)

It still hurts.

(It was the fear. The kind of fear where Kyoko woke up to the smoke and there is blood—that is not hers—on her body and she picked up at Yui’s cape, torn and tattered and her Mother didn’t look so much like Mother anymore.)

She looked at her hands.

(And she felt it, the shrieks in the air and cries in the distance, the smoke clings and turns to soot on her cheeks, and it is warm. So warm. Too warm.)

She retracts and coils into herself. Rubbing at her wrists, as if to check if it was still there.

How would she explain it? The feeling of it all?

_Again, again._

Everything was so hopeless then. Even if it was for mere minutes.

She’d just think about them instead.

She loved the comfort they brought to her in her sleep, sometimes she’d imagine they were still there. She would never dream of the burning house then.

She didn’t want to be happy.

She wanted them alive.

Kyoko Kirigiri would be whole in their embrace—this she thought so much of—so full and made of everything in their arms.

She would look at her sides and the empty spaces they have, and she thinks about the warmth it used to occupy.

It wasn’t the warmth that killed her when she was thirteen. It was the warmth that made her feel like she was living, still.

And if she thought hard enough, maybe she was no different to a vampire. A dead woman walking.

But maybe, if she’s had her vengeance, she’d be okay by then. And if she knew the name of what took everything away from her, she’d had something to curse at in the daydreams of her sleepless nights.

So she kept holding on to herself, even if the cracks were getting bigger and bigger as time moved on.

(Even if she was losing herself in the process.)

She can never explain it. The feeling of it all.

* * *

“You’re not much for sleeping, are you?” Ludenburg says plainly, observing her carefully, “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen you out here when you should be sleeping, huntress. Sometimes I like entertaining the thought that you’re a vampire yourself.”

Kirigiri laughs under her breath. “You may not be too far off.”

“Is your room not to your liking?” She tilts her head, “I can arrange better accommodations you know. It’s not much of a problem.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s better than anything I’ve had in years. It’s just,” she inhales, she exhales, “shit. Nothing. It’s nothing.”

She frowns. “I thought,” Ludenburg says, rolling her eyes, “that from the first few times, you know better than to lie to me.”

Her words sink into Kirigiri slowly, piece-by-piece, and she allows herself to calm down before looking her in the eyes again.

“Right,” Kirigiri chuckles half-heartedly and drops her arms. “My bad.”

Ludenburg looks at her closely.

“Night terrors, my dear?” She knows this is nothing probing, just a statement of fact, and it’s as if Ludenburg is familiar with the process.

She doesn’t lie. “You always guess right.”

Ludenburg smiles, pleased with her answer. “Of course, I’ve lived for many years. I know what waking up from a nightmare would look like.”

She looked at her with uncertainty, this one not being any masks of any sorts, just pure and unrestrained honesty, and Kirigiri feels like she’s special.

Seconds later, and the moon is still high and almost full.

“Do you know how to dance the waltz?”

Kirigiri knows this was a real, honest question.

She was offering her a distraction.

No, she wants to say, in this moment she thinks she wants to be left alone, choke on her own misgivings, push her away, but it’s not really the same thing her heart wants for once.

This time, she obeys.

“Yeah.”

“Then,” Ludenburg says, equal parts thoughtful and timid (Kirigiri did think she was capable of that, just not so soon, but she finds that she likes it, whatever this thing between them is), “would you like to dance with me?”

Here she was, taking the hand of a stranger, or not.

And they danced, the moonlight bends and the room drifts to dust. She waltzed with her, hands so gently placed over Ludenburg’s hips, and they talked quietly, mindlessly—whispering and so much whispering.

(She was in the house, and the fires burn more gently than violently, cracking flames flicker into the night, and there were no bodies, no blood, and no haunting tsk-tsk of the metronome.)

Maybe she could stand to talk, at least, for once.

And so she tells of a story, secretly, silently, mindlessly, and it is midnight by then.

(I was thirteen. Two of the most important people in my life died at the hands of a rogue vampire, she says, and Ludenburg is listening intently, they, Mother, Yui Samidare, they are gone now. No physical reminder, even. They burned away in a fire. The one who killed them still out and about, probably.)

She talked about it all.

(Reminds me of my own, Ludenburg says. I was turned during a fire, around your age. Maybe a century ago, I don’t know, but I was going home from a gambling ring and well, things happened, a few villages burned down, and here I am.)

She talked about the house.

(I’ve started from nothing, Ludenburg says, much quieter, and did you know? This manor isn’t originally mine, I got it purely by chance. The regent who owned it before I did? I killed him; he was slaughtering and kidnapping from the nearby village. I was just one of the first who got fed up with it. The riches were a prize, an additional commodity. And from there on, more people came, and this coven grew.)

She talked about her hands. Her hands. Her ugly hands.

(I was fifteen when I got my first kill, Kirigiri remarks, it was also a burning house. And it was just one, but he was the most violent I’ve seen at the time, and I had no choice.)

She talked about her hands.

Can I see them? Ludenburg had asked at one point, and Kirigiri doesn’t know how many hours they’ve been standing there, dancing, talking, talking and talking. The stained glass at their side glows a gentle, baby blue.

She doesn’t resist.

(She touched and held her hands. It was rough, ugly, calloused, and scarred. And Ludenburg looked at her with a soft, genuine smile. They’re beautiful, she says, and Kirigiri feels like crying, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

“I thought I’ve forgotten,” Kirigiri finds herself saying, and it is morning, “I thought I lost it a long time ago.”

“What is it?” Ludenburg says intelligently, patiently. “What is it that you’ve found?”

“I feel like, like,” she says, so awed and caught up in her realizations, and she stares, stares, _stares_ at Ludenburg, takes the hand with the claw ring, and spills the fingers pass her white dress shirt, over her collarbone, over her own skin. It is so warm. Comforting kind of warm. _Fuck._ “I feel like I have a heart again.”

Here she was too, spilling her heart to a stranger— _not_. Not so much of a stranger anymore, honestly.

“I mean, it’s always been here,” Kirigiri says quietly, and she feels so raw and so broken and so shocked at it all—her own world is crashing right around her, but she finds that she doesn’t mind. “I’ve just… forgotten that at one point.”

She can explain this one. The feeling of it all.

She lets go of Ludenburg’s hand and opens her palms, looking at her knuckles and her fingers, and she closes them. She repeats the action, again and again. It’s so warm. So warm. And she lets it trail all over her, her cheek, her jawline, her collarbone, and right back at her heart.

It feels nice.

“Me too,” Ludenburg murmurs, very, _very_ honest for once. “With you, I tend to forget that my heart technically stopped beating a long time ago.”

“Kind of ironic. _You’re_ the vampire here, not me.”

The woman giggles.

“Indeed.”

And it’s as if she’s ready to pour out forever from her lips. It’s them. Maybe, just maybe, if their circumstances were a bit more different, _Kyoko_ would know that she would be here—she can imagine herself pointing at her chest, where her heart is—and Ludenburg just belonged there. She _swears_ she belonged there.

“Can you,” Ludenburg whispers—no— _pleads_ , “call me by my first name, please?”

“Celestia?”

She laughs. “No, imbecile. Did you truly think that was my real name?”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Ludenburg— _Celestia_ smiles teasingly, “I would’ve been wrong in judging you otherwise.”

Kyoko chuckles. “What is it then?”

(She’s in love with a vampire.

Well, it _should_ be weird, but for some reason, she doesn’t mind.

No, no, she doesn’t regret this.)

“Taeko.” Celestia mumbles, and it’s as if these syllables haven’t been uttered in a lifetime. “Taeko Yasuhiro, it is my real name.”

* * *

She walks into the study, and a few empty, unused papers are crushed under her boots.

Kirigiri’s thankful she didn’t have to get too involved into the coven business when she helped out—if anything, it would’ve just confused their established dynamics even more.

There were some new ones she’s met now that she was well a few weeks into living here—Tanaka, Harukawa, Pekoyama, and Shinguji were the most notable—Celestia’s coven was an interesting bunch.

She was just there as assistance, an extra cannon ball, a hidden ace, and she would be gone by tomorrow.

Or that’s what she kept telling herself anyway.

(She ignores the fact that whenever she steps into her room, she’s as breathless as the first time she enters it.

This room, it feels like she’s coming home—and well, it is so different than her first, and her only—but the emotions, the feelings that sink into her flesh and into her skin is so comforting and familiar and it’s easy to give it names.

It’s like she belonged there.)

The easy part of this was that Kirigiri would say she did her job and did it well. It was done and done. That the hour she shot the last arrow from her crossbow, the last bullet from her pistols, it was the last time she’d be here.

She didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

(The person, the _woman_ , you are looking for, Celestia says.)

Had she come to the right place—

(“Her name”, Celestia whispers, and if Kyoko looked hard enough she can pinpoint the sadness deep within her irises and how much of it is the same for herself, “her name is Junko Enoshima.”)

—but at the wrong time?

(She is dangerous.)

I’m dangerous, she thought of saying, I’m _dangerous_.

“She’s an elder vampire. She’s lived for _centuries_.” Celestia says, more worried than playful, “I doubt you stand a chance.”

“I’ve prepared for this my _whole life_ ,” Kirigiri says, lips set to a tight line, the hint of a snarl at the corner of her mouth. “I have to kill her.”

“Now you’re just being irrational,” she argues back, “you’re so much better than this. I’m telling you, it’s far beyond your capabilities. Hundreds to _thousands_ have tried the same thing you’re doing.”

What is she, really, without the bitterness?

“And you know what happened to them? They all ended up dead.”

What is she without the raging heart taken away from her eleven years ago?

“I don’t know what else I can do,” she finds herself saying out loud, “I’m not any better than this.”

How would she explain it? The feeling of it all?

“Yes, you are.” Celestia says, taking a step towards her, “You can do better. I know this. _You_ know this.”

What else can she do, when her heart burned away with her mother and her closest friend’s corpses—at the house that smelled like sandalwood and scented candles?

What was she to do, when the only place she called home, were now specks of dust in the wind?

(When she wept that evening, the soot clung to her cheeks, and she dirtied her face as she scratched at it, at her hair, at her neck, at her clothes, and she wished for death and death alone, then and there.)

What I will do is, a younger, angrier version of her would say, I will come to the danger. I will reach to it. To the truth of it all, even if it kills me.

(She wasn’t afraid of death before.)

“Kyoko.” Celestia calls to her.

She looks at her.

“I don’t want you dead.” She takes a step closer, raising a hand to Kyoko’s cheek, lets her fingers trail over the skin, over her chin, her jawline, and Celestia’s thumb stops and brushes at the bottom of her lip, “you can’t die yet. You _can’t_ do this to me.”

She pauses.

“Not when I’ve found you.”

(She would say she wasn’t afraid of death. Now, she isn’t so sure anymore.)

Oh.

(She would like that, thirteen year old Kyoko says, behind the hazy fog of her dreams, she would like for someone to be there for her.)

_Oh._

(I would like that, twenty four year old Kyoko says in a dream one night, I would like for someone to be there for me.)

She lets it be.

“Okay.”

Kyoko sighs.

_Okay._

“I’m sorry for saying that.”

Celestia smiles. “You’re forgiven.”

_Okay. This is okay._

She gently places her hands over the other’s hips, and she feels Celestia’s hands, her nails, ghost over the back of her neck, and the woman’s red eyes are so, _so_ dark, like blood, so striking and Kyoko feels the ache, the thirst, the _hunger_ , and she feels it so much it’s like she’s living inside her veins.

Maybe, for tonight, she’ll forget about herself, just for a while.

She feels the throbbing of her own pulse at the side of her neck. And the room, it feels so hot; it sizzles, it _burns_ , but it’s the opposite of unpleasant.

With her lips still hovering so closely over Celestia’s own, she whispers. “May I?”

Celestia closes her eyes as she mumbles and closes the distance with a, “yes, you may.”

In the second their lips touch, the world stops, and she wonders, for just the moment, if the abyss where Celestia’s heart sits at is beating, fluttering, throbbing, and her eyelids drift shut as she wonders the same for herself.

The kiss slows, slows naturally, and there’s a comfort in here, so she doesn’t pull away—Kyoko swears, _fuck,_ she swears it’s like she belonged just right there—she’d done it in the heat of the moment, but now she’s left thinking if this was an eventual sort of thing.

As her eyes flutter open, she finds Celestia looking up at her like she was the first and last thing she’ll ever see in her life, so tender, so passionate, so _vulnerable_ , and she drowns in it.

In the look, in _them_ , the feel of them in the room, so content in this unmoving silence where the only thing left to do is unravel each and every part of themselves.

The feel of the hands tugging at her scalp, the heat under her clothes, the warmth of the candlelights, the air leaking from her lungs, the little hitch to Celestia’s each inhale, and Kyoko asks for another—Celestia allows her, and another. Another. And another and another. And suddenly the clothes feel too restricting.

She’s never dreamed of this.

Really, this isn’t something she’s ever dreamed of having, her tongue sweeps so hotly and greedily at Celestia’s lips, her gloves (ones she want to take off) gripping casually at the open slit on the woman’s thigh, _but_ maybe, maybe, maybe she’d want to dream about it more.

“Can you,” she hears Celestia whisper from underneath her, “stay here for tonight?”

_Don’t leave, she infers, don’t you dare leave._

“Okay.” Kyoko says, and she means it.

And then she was tilting her head back, her neck open and the pulse throbs louder.

* * *

Again, she dreams of the burning house.

_Again, come_.

This one though, for the first time, doesn’t induce that much rage as it should. Well, it still did turn her guts inside out, but it’s kind of more of a natural thing, a more normal reaction to seeing the carnage. Of realizing you’re in a nightmare again.

There was hope in this. Here. She sees it.

She thinks of her mother’s eyes, Yui’s, shining so brightly and more radiantly than the fall’s waning sunset, and if she could say it back then, she would say Kyoko Kirigiri treasured these.

Maybe, maybe her father was there too. Somewhere.

Their eyes. Their smiles. The way they embraced her.

And the hope that carried her so much that she felt it even years later, at the way she looked at her hands and be reminded of how warm theirs felt against hers. At the way she curled at their sides on the hot summer days.

And be reminded that the world wasn’t always so lawless.

_Again, come._

And she looked at her hands.

She was told they were beautiful.

Kyoko cries.

She wants to think so too.

* * *

“Let me help you,” Celestia says the next morning, at the breakfast table, and it is only the two of them, “I will help you.”

The fork stops midway, and she raises her eyebrows. “With what?”

Celestia tuts under her breath. “What? Did I take away too much blood last night from you that you forgot?” She rolls her eyes theatrically, the accent in her voice falls away just for a bit, enough for her to realize she was being teased, “with Enoshima, clearly.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She chuckles, the heat pools in her cheeks. “But, what do you mean by that?”

“Enoshima is elusive,” she says. “There’s a reason you’ve never heard of her. But vampires—higher ranks, older ones, lucky ones—those who’ve made it past fifty to almost a hundred years like myself, know. She has made many enemies over the years.”

Kyoko pushes one portion of the toast in her mouth, and wipes the crumbs at her lips with the back of her hand. “How do you propose we do this then?”

Celestia hums.

“I know a few more things that can have different vampires unite for one cause, maybe not enough to lead them, but enough to cause a spark.”

She smirks dangerously.

“I’ve never been able to do much because my coven is a well-known one,” she says, “but you, Kyoko, you’re almost the same way Enoshima is when it comes to leaving any tracks. You have none.”

Kyoko blinks. “Oh.”

“Perhaps, I can handle the politics while you handle the background work,” Celestia muses, one finger on her lip, dagger on her tongue, “I deal with old, bickering elders on a daily basis, if you want to know. It’s rather amusing watching them squirm.”

“You,” Kyoko sets her lips to a narrow, contemplative line, “you want to cause what is essentially a _hunt_. It’s almost like a revolution.”

The smirk on Celestia’s face grows wider, but there is a bit of pride in it, “sharp as always, my dear. That is _exactly_ what I’m saying will happen. I have enough power and influence to play the game, but _you_ have the means to start it.”

Junko Enoshima’s infamy reaches so far.

And it may as well become the very same thing that will kill her.

She laughs, fully, at the irony, and Celestia smiles nicely at her.

* * *

They end up winding themselves in each other’s lives, and with no contest. She’d go out of her journeys and go on with her life as usual, but there’s a house, a home—she’s not ready to call that yet, but it’s close—waiting for her. And sometimes, they would end up bumping into each other while Kyoko’s on the job, and Celestia would playfully try to make it harder for her with the little free time she has.

There used to be so, _so_ much unoccupied space, a lot of secrets here and there, maybe a few more revelations to be had, but Celestia— _Taeko_ , lives there, and a bit more of her and she might just forget she was her prey in the first place.

The coven catches wind of it, but Celestia didn’t mind a single bit of it. There might’ve been a few protests initially, but after a while they’ve resigned—no, that wasn’t the right word— _accepted_ that there was no one else perfect for their mistress other than her.

If anything, after she’s proven herself, she was allowed into their abode without complaint and with more cheer than she expected to have, like there was always this empty spot with her name on it. It’s an appreciation that’s better left unsaid.

It’s difficult to be around Celestia without touching her in some way. A hand at the hip, maybe at her thigh, maybe fingers on her arm, or a hand at her cheek—she can’t stand for it to be anyone else.

If, she imagines one afternoon, if Celestia was human, Kyoko would enjoy watching the blood rise to the surface of her skin, of her cheeks, of her face, and she finds herself entranced at the thought for days at a time.

She could get used to this, she thinks, and her hands are flipping through the books of the romance section of the manor library, page after page, word after word, looking at each and every story and how they were written with pride. She laughs at it appreciatively.

That afternoon, the halls echo in a welcoming song, and she relishes it, the feel of it all, so new and so comforting, it makes her momentarily forget what is was like to be angry by then.

This love, it was real, it was true, and everything in between the same. Everyone else must’ve realized Kyoko Kirigiri and Celestia Ludenburg were a pair of lovesick idiots, enough that they’d want to twist the world in on its own axis, and to touch each other so purely and so raw—with their bodies, with their lips, with their hands.

And when evening is there, their days come to the most satisfying end.

“Taeko,” she says quietly.

Their bodies draw so close it almost blurs to nothing.

“How are you?” Kyoko asks, and the candles are out, the night is dark, and both of them are kissing hotly, out of breath, and wide awake. Celestia’s spine arches, and she looks so much like a goddess, clip-ons gone and short hair splayed out on the sheets.

“I feel, I feel like, _fuck_ ,” she chokes out, tears in her eyes and her fingers knot into Kyoko’s hair, nails digging into her scalp, and as she gasps she can see her stare at the ceiling and its lights, she can picture them just like the stars, her universe, “I feel like—I’m—I’m alive.”

Let me see you whole, she thinks of saying. Let's keep the lights out, let's keep this between us.

Let me love you fully.

Let me find you in the dark.

She thinks of the time she imagined herself pointing at her chest, and she feels for the words so deeply she almost gasps—I know it, I _swear,_ I _swear_ that you were here. You belong here, no one else can.

I swear, Kyoko would point at her heart, I swear you belonged here.

There’s a love somewhere for them. Rules of the world be _damned_.

She will find her in her next lifetime. And the one afterwards. Always.

“Can anyone else have this?” Kyoko whispers against the lobe of her ear.

Celestia glances up, looking so sure of herself.

“Never.”

She smiles. “How so?”

They can preach it to the priests, sing it to the cathedrals, tell it to the volcano, and the feel of it all throbs so painfully in her chest. The love is so ready to burst.

This is what she wants, this is what they want; ruin.

“If they don’t have what we have,” Celestia says, “then what is the point of it all?”

* * *

It is summer. Months, months, maybe it was a year, later.

“Drink my blood.”

“No,” Kyoko says with finality. “I can’t.”

She knew Celestia respected her choice.

No matter how much it hurt the both of them.

“I would love to spend lifetimes with you,” she says dejectedly, and it’s like she’s being strangled just by being here, “but I cannot.”

She can’t bear to watch humanity die while she looked the same.

“You know,” Celestia says, sadly, and if she probed hard enough she was shedding a few tears, “I would be crying or screaming at you in rage. However, it is _unfortunate_ , I’m smart enough to have anticipated your choice. You’re special like that.”

Kyoko smiles, unabashed.

“How do you want to die, huntress?”

The question is honest. Celestia’s learning to be more like that. But only to her. She’s delighted.

Kyoko looks at the papers strewn on the table. All familiar; twintails, black tattered clothes, her father’s silver pendant.

“Glory? Riches?” Celestia says playfully. “Surrounded by beautiful women? One hundred dead bodies?”

She laughs. “No.”

The burning house.

The tsk-tsk of the metronome.

And her hands.

The weapons in the armory are ready. The hunters are gathering. The revolution is a dangerous, forest fire that grows and grows as the clock whirrs and time moves on.

She smirks, dangerously.

“I want to die giving Junko Enoshima,” she says cockily, “my last ‘fuck you’, nothing else.”

Celestia rolls her eyes, but the grin on her face, fangs out and shining menacingly, Kyoko’s never seen anything like it.

She likes it. So she memorizes the look, for what could be perhaps her last time.

“I never thought otherwise.”

* * *

The burning house is there again.

_Come, come._

Except it isn’t burning.

Yui and Mother are there at the gardens, having a little picnic.

Father is somewhere, maybe in the house.

They are smiling at her.

Can you hear, she would say, can you hear the vastness of the gratitude I whispered into your hearts?

And her hands, the scars are there, and there are no gloves.

_Come, come_.

Kyoko laughs.

Fate, she laughs until she can’t anymore, is such a bitch.

* * *

I love you, Kyoko tells Celestia on her last night, and they were there, together, at someplace, where the city was burning and the moon was full.

Say, the danger is so near, and unlike her partner, this one will kill her.

"I love you," she says it again, for safekeeping.

She looks at her. Really, _really,_ looks at her. 

She whispers it against her mouth, closer than home, _just_ like home, and it feels like they are at the end of the world, and it is rebuilding and rebirthing itself into something new.

It’s the three easiest words on this planet.

What else can she say?

Oh, right.

She will find her in her next lifetime. And the one afterwards. Always.

Her heart leaps to her throat, and Celestia’s eyes glint even without the light.

She jumps into the fray, and Celestia is hot on her heels.

And they separate.

(She must’ve felt this somewhere, sometime ago. But this isn't dread in her bones, this is completeness. This is the finale. But that doesn't mean this was where their story ends.)

She closes her eyes. She opens them again.

(The desperation is like what it was months ago, like their first kiss. Whispers in the darkness about being the beginnings of _something_ , _everything_ , and they may be years, years old, but they are still so young.)

How desperate is she, for the longing to shine in the last few moments she would have alive, alone but the warm of Celestia's lips settle there, spreading outwardly and it's like she was a beacon within the flames, even if it was in her last sheer hours.

She's coming back to put the stake into Enoshima's heart herself.

But she's not going to live.

She will burn in the heaven she's created.

(She will think of Celestia touching her shoulders, her arms, her cheeks, her jaws, feeling her skin through the cloth so lightly and so gently.

I love you so much, she said.

And Celestia looks back, looks at her and says the same. You know I do too.)

And she will lose herself to the light.

It will be her end, by then.

**Author's Note:**

> beta reader - sevenohfive
> 
> WikiHow to write smart people if you're a fucking dumbass
> 
> this is... really different than what i would usually do. very experimental w both length and formatting. 10k words?? i vaguely remember myself two fics ago saying i will never do anything that's above 5k ever again and uh. look i don't even know what happened here.,,, 
> 
> i planned this to be like 6-7k at minimum but it got away from me and sfjfhdjgh. i never had someone beta my story before because i never needed it, but this word count is way out of my depth and ahaha this is uncharted waters. thank you so much sev!! you're a real one <3
> 
> i've never actually played a single dr game in my LIFE. i think my last interaction w any media thats dr related was like YEARS ago or something. but i lived and experienced it vicariously through my friends and they have immense brainrot so im giving the lesbians some content. hope you enjoyed reading!


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